


charcoal

by uncaringerinn



Series: underdog. [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:33:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5545334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncaringerinn/pseuds/uncaringerinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'll learn, if it means breaking every bone she has in the process, so be it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	charcoal

When he finds her in his quarters, it's late. Late enough that no one would have seen her pick the lock and let herself in. She's bathed recently, dressed in only an off-white t-shirt pulled over a pair of long johns. Her half-wet, blood-red bangs still stick to her forehead. She's got her fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of whiskey. The chair she's sitting in creaks in protest as she leans back precariously on two legs.

Theodora tips the whiskey bottle towards him, "Evening."

There's this static in the stagnant air, slides over his skin, plays in the depths of her hazel eyes. She throws her socked feet up on the table before her, and swallows a mouthful of whiskey, licks her lips because she can feel the tension too.

"What do you want?" His voice sounds like his throat was raked over rough gravel, his patience is too thin to grapple with her tonight.

"Why don't you have a seat? So we can have a...civil conversation." There's a spark of irritation that flows through him at her invitation. He chooses to remain standing, but walks over to the table, pulling a cigarette from the pack resting there. Lighting it, he notices the way her nose twitches, the starving way her eyes watch his lips as he inhales. The bottle she's holding clinks obnoxiously against the edge of the table, and the noise seems to snap her out of whatever haze she was trapped in.

Theodora pulls one shoulder up in the form of a shrug at his subtle decline of her offer, taking another gulp of whiskey, "There have been some discouraging activities near some of my settlements." She begins, pointing a thin, bony finger at him, "I'd like to discuss them with you."

"The Commonwealth is a dangerous place. From what my soldiers tell me, you're quite adept at handling any concerns or complaints your settlers may have."

"Ferals, greenskins, and raiders are not the problem I'm referring to, _Arthur_." She spits his name like it tastes foul on her tongue, "Your soldiers will leave my settlements alone."

Bracing both hands on the table, he leans toward her, but she doesn't shrink away, "Those _soldiers_ are your brothers and sister in arms, or did you forget that traipsing around the Commonwealth with that mercenary?"

She slams the bottle down on the table, hard enough that the amber liquid inside sloshes about noisily, "Keep the Brotherhood away from my people, Maxson."

Her anger is suddenly so thick that he can feel it slithering through his veins, warming him to the bone, "The Brotherhood isn't forcing _your people_ into anything they don't wish to do. We're negotiating with them, Theodora." The ash from his cigarette tumbles into the tray as he snubs it out, orange glow burning faintly before disappearing in a final puff of smoke, "If you wish to continue working with the Brotherhood, I suggest that you not interfere any further in our relations with the citizens of the Commonwealth, regardless if they happen to inhabit your settlements."

She exhales slowly, he can see her fingernails dig into the meat of her palms. In his distraction, he doesn't notice the way her tongue slides out to wet her lips, how her jaw rolls to gather the moisture in her mouth. Maxson feels the wet smack of her saliva hit the skin of his cheek, warm and slick as it trails down into the roughness of his untrimmed beard.

The snarl that rips from his throat echoes in the room, and he clenches a hand around the hinges of her jaws, squeezing and forcing them apart. Her mouth gapes open and he uses his grip to pull her to the edge of the seat, free hand twisting in the still-damp hairs at the nape of her neck to support the weight of her head. When she tries to speak, he shoves the first two fingers of the hand on her jaw past her lips, pressing down on her tongue. Red blooms over her freckled cheekbones, a mixture of fury and helplessness stare back at him from muddy green-brown eyes.

"Listen to me, _girl_ ," Her nostrils flare as she tries to pull away, he pushes the fingers in her mouth deeper, enjoying the way her throat constricts around them, "I've beaten you bloody once, and I will gladly do it again. I did not become Elder at sixteen because I flinched away from insubordinate soldiers who behave like children. Do you understand me?"

She sinks her teeth into the flesh just below his knuckles, Maxson feels the skin break and watches his blood slowly pool in the corners of her lips. Other hand twisting tighter in her hair, craning her head and neck at a painful angle, tears gather in her eyes, slip down her temples, "I said, do you understand?"

A strained gurgle sounds from her throat, she gives the barest of nods. He pulls his hands from her mouth and hair, observes as coughs wrack her small frame, crimson speckles on the fabric of her long johns. When she finally looks up, she's licking the remainder of his blood off her teeth like she enjoys the taste, throat working as she swallows.

Her eyes are still watering, and he wants her on her knees as the tears slide down her cheeks. Broken. That's what he really wants. Her kneeling on the floor before him in defeat.

Using a bleeding finger, Maxson tips her chin up and forces her to look at him, leaning close enough to catch the scent of copper and whiskey on her breath. When he speaks, it's in a soft, soothing voice, "If that ever happens again, Theodora, I will break your jaw and leave you a bloody mess on my floor."

Her hand moves over his sternum, curls around his holotags. She rasps, raw and grating, "Long live the Brotherhood." Before raking her nails down his chest, hard enough that he can feel them catch on the skin beneath his uniform, "And long live Elder Maxson."

He catches her wrist, "Go lick your wounds, Knight. Unless you would like me to lick them for you." She jerks her arm away at the suggestion, one last desperate attempt of defiance, and slinks from his room and out into the darkness.

She'll learn, if it means breaking every bone she has in the process, so be it.

**Author's Note:**

> i think you're picking up by now that this is not a good relationship these two have. also, Playing With Fire by Brandon Flowers is what majorly set the tone for this, and shit, really this whole series. let me know what you think, if you want. or give me ideas, i don't know. i'm drowning over here.


End file.
